Any Shelter [Closed] - Printable Version
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RE: Any Shelter [Closed] - SolitareLee - 04-08-2017
She arfed in mild alarm as he swooped her up into the air, up significantly higher than she had been in this form. She felt like she was flying, and then he nuzzled his face against her belly. Had she been human, she would have been inventing new shades of red.
She was in a daze of confused emotions on the way down the stairs. She felt like she had gotten lost somewhere around when he first picked her up in the park, and then weird things kept happening and she couldn't catch back up to reality. It was like a fever dream filled with petting, affection, and being repeatedly praised. Actually, she'd probably had literal dreams like this, except not with Jean--that she would admit--and not quite this detailed, since he seemed to be inventing new forms of affection as he went.
He kept kissing her, and petting her, and she was enjoying both way more than she really should have been. She wandered about on the counter, mostly to prove that she could, sniffing things, while he gathered whatever it was he was gathering. She smelled something interesting on one particular corner of counter, and licked it experimentally. There had been meat here, once.
She was momentarily distracted from her Meat Quest by him setting down a ludicrously small... crystal wine glass, it looked like, and filling it with water.
...Was he kidding. Did he not own bowls.
How did a man like this not have a tiny animal he pampered endlessly?
Well, whatever. It was water, and she'd had a very long day. She lapped out of it. She wondered if it tasted better because it wasn't tap water, or if because it was out of a crystal glass. Probably because it wasn't tap water. She didn't live in an area known for its excellently filtered taps.
She glanced up from the water as he set something on the counter, licking her muzzle and nose repeatedly to clean try and dry it of excess water.
...The fuck.
Was he actually planning on feeding her caviar?
She'd never had caviar before. But she'd had roe, once, and that had been fine? It was just fish eggs, right? She should be able to eat that. But. What the fuck? What? The fuck? Caviar, seriously? This was like something out of a weird book.
She sniffed it cautiously. It smelled like the sea.
Well.
You only live once.
She licked the little pile of yellow-green beads cautiously, pulling some into her mouth. They sort of burst, sort of melted, as she held them there, little bursts of fish and salt and butter. It was a strong flavor. But not bad. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, not chewing so much as aerating, then licked her muzzle.
So that was caviar.
She took another drink of water, and then went back for seconds. Tonight was a very weird night of firsts, but she might as well try to enjoy herself. It wasn't as though he knew who, or what, she was. She knew, which was also pretty bad, but... The humiliation could be kept under manageable levels, if he just never, ever, ever found out.
RE: Any Shelter [Closed] - Tindome - 04-09-2017
Jean bent to rest his elbows on the counter and his chin on his palms, watching with delight as the prickly Miss Corey licked her nose and sampled fine caviar. She could not bring herself to eat it in the ravenous manner that would surely have characterized a true dog, and that amused him, too. "What a sophisticated palate you have!" he observed. "Such delicacy and refinement! Truly, a queen among dogs."
Which would have been a much nicer thing to say if she'd actually been a dog.
He reached out and rubbed between her ears again before standing and going back to his fridge. "What else would you like, I wonder? Ah! What a lucky girl you are, that there is a little left still."
He returned to the counter with a glass serving bowl covered with a kitchen towel, which he did not remove immediately. "This," he informed her with relish, "is Cinco Jotas Jamón Ibérico. The finest purebred pigs in Spain are fed only acorns – do not fret, petite bleu. Only the delicious oils make it into the meat, turning it so delicate that it can only be cut with the sharpest of swords." He paused for dramatic effect. "And there is just a little bit left from the other day's breakfast," he said cheerfully. Lifting the towel away from the bowl, and draped a translucent pink strip of ham over two fingers, and offered it to her.
His grin would have terrified any sensible prey animal.
Which would have been a much nicer thing to say if she'd actually been a dog.
He reached out and rubbed between her ears again before standing and going back to his fridge. "What else would you like, I wonder? Ah! What a lucky girl you are, that there is a little left still."
He returned to the counter with a glass serving bowl covered with a kitchen towel, which he did not remove immediately. "This," he informed her with relish, "is Cinco Jotas Jamón Ibérico. The finest purebred pigs in Spain are fed only acorns – do not fret, petite bleu. Only the delicious oils make it into the meat, turning it so delicate that it can only be cut with the sharpest of swords." He paused for dramatic effect. "And there is just a little bit left from the other day's breakfast," he said cheerfully. Lifting the towel away from the bowl, and draped a translucent pink strip of ham over two fingers, and offered it to her.
His grin would have terrified any sensible prey animal.
RE: Any Shelter [Closed] - SolitareLee - 04-09-2017
Oh, she wasn't eating much like a dog, was she. How did dogs eat? Probably really fast and with some choking noises or something. Whatever, he was the one who had decided she was a dog who bathed in champaign and ate caviar. This was his fault. As far as he knew, she was the kind of dog who would turn her nose up at all but the finest delicacies of dog-kind. She wasn't, mind.
She was the kind of dog, and the kind of person, who would eat an entire plate full of bacon. She was perhaps slightly more sensitive to greasy foods than the average human, but she'd never let it stop her from eating them anyway. She just kept antacids on hand.
But he didn't know that. He'd never seen her eat a 16 oz steak with a full plate of sides. So he could just be impressed by her admirable doggy palatte, because she was making enough of a fool out of herself tonight as it was.
She did finish the caviar though. Then she sat on the counter, watching Jean curiously as he fetched something else from his fridge. She listened to his speech with the sort of focus that might not befit a dog. She wasn't sure. Perhaps she should go back to licking the counter.
But it was very interesting. How the rich lived. With their ludicrous delicacies. His pig had lived a better life than she did. Did it taste better, knowing the pig had been happier than the human children who picked his vegetables? She had no way of knowing. Or maybe she did, since he was apparently planning on feeding this to her.
Oh... That looked really good. And it smelled even better. She watched it come closer.
She had never eaten something out of someone's hand before.
But it was... a normal dog thing. This was a thing normal dogs did.
...Actually.
She had a rare opportunity here.
A risky, rare opportunity.
Very risky. But it would be very telling of his personality, which was a constant source of confusion to her. He was like a different man every time she met him, often switching between kind and cruel mid-paragraph. She was a little scared to see that switch when she was five pounds and very fragile.
But she was, in all ways, a bitch.
She snatched the meat up more roughly than she needed to, more like the average dog. It wouldn't be accurate to say she bit him. More like... she nipped him, sharply. In the process of fetching ham. Which was a very dog thing to do.
RE: Any Shelter [Closed] - Tindome - 04-12-2017
Jean's immediate and initial response was to laugh. It was not a reassuring laugh, because there were too many teeth and they were too sharp. He smothered it with the back of one hand, though only to a chuckle. "I do not know why I am surprised," he said, "to find that you cannot control yourself around meat." He scooped her up off the counter again, holding her on her back against his chest like an infant.
He knew that she was herself, and that biting him had therefore been a choice that she'd made. But she didn't know that he knew that. So what was she trying to accomplish? Testing him, to see if he was the kind of person who would beat a dog? She had to have known that he wasn't, or else she'd not have risked it. It would be all too easy just to kill her by accident, let alone if he wanted to. He rubbed at her exposed belly, and toyed with one of the little paws.
"Careful of the teeth," he warned, tapping her on the nose with one finger. "Perhaps your usual master does not mind so much, but I am not that sort of man." Then he kissed her.
Repeatedly.
On all the fluffiest spots on her head.
He set her back down on the counter, fixing her fur and the ribbons in them, and then offered her a little more ham.
He knew that she was herself, and that biting him had therefore been a choice that she'd made. But she didn't know that he knew that. So what was she trying to accomplish? Testing him, to see if he was the kind of person who would beat a dog? She had to have known that he wasn't, or else she'd not have risked it. It would be all too easy just to kill her by accident, let alone if he wanted to. He rubbed at her exposed belly, and toyed with one of the little paws.
"Careful of the teeth," he warned, tapping her on the nose with one finger. "Perhaps your usual master does not mind so much, but I am not that sort of man." Then he kissed her.
Repeatedly.
On all the fluffiest spots on her head.
He set her back down on the counter, fixing her fur and the ribbons in them, and then offered her a little more ham.
RE: Any Shelter [Closed] - SolitareLee - 04-12-2017
Biting him held a lot of satisfaction. Less when he started laughing, and less still when he started talking. What the hell, Jean.
Was that innuendo?! Was he being sexually inappopriate with a dog? She'd long taken note of his ability to make every goddamn thing sound sexual, but now she was starting to wonder. Was he aware? Was he doing it on purpose? If he was aware, was it something he just did to entertain himself, or was he that much of a pervert? If he wasn't aware... dear god, why had nobody ever told him.
Her tail was tucked between her legs, mostly out of humiliation, as he lifted her. Most dogs did not, she suspected, feel humiliation. When she did, her tail tucked and her ears went down. They just did.
He had to know.
This was mortifying. Teasing her about meat and teeth while he rubbed her belly and played with her paws and smothered her with kisses. She didn't need to cross those wires! Especially not when she was a dog! There were somethings you just didn't think about when you had four paws, and a man's meat was one of them.
She was so relieved when he set her back down. She wanted to tear the ribbons out of her fur. She wanted to jump off of the counter--that would almost certainly injure her. They were very high counters, designed for a man over six feet tall. And also, a dog would not run away from meat.
Fuming inside, she grabbed the meat off his fingers... with a bit more delicacy this time. In fact, she sort of avoided even touching his fingers at all.
The ham was goddamn delicious, which just kind of annoyed her.
She wanted more of it, though. She glared at him, mentally urging him to just give her the entire plate, even though she knew he'd probably feed it to her tiny strip at a time.
RE: Any Shelter [Closed] - Tindome - 04-12-2017
So much mortification for such a tiny dog. It made him want to pick her back up and nuzzle at her again. Constantly. Until he got bored.
He hummed, and resumed feeding her little strips of ham, well aware of her impatience. He grabbed a piece with his other hand to nibble on some himself. It was delicious, after all. She'd certainly never had anything so fine as what he'd been feeding her, and he needed to feed her so little. What an amusing thought, that her first memories of these fine things would be forever tied to the memory of being small and helpless and trapped in his home.
Not that he was the one who'd trapped her. She was trapped by circumstance, and he was forced to keep her here, for her own safety. He was no happier about this than she was.
… in theory. In practice, he was enjoying himself immensely. If she didn't want to try to have fun while she was stuck here, that was hardly his fault.
"Do you know how cute you are?" he wondered, a genuine question that he knew she could not answer. He scratched her head while she finished off the last of the ham. "Oh, but you must. How could you not?" He gathered up the dishes to leave them in the sink for the morning, and then picked her up again. Once again, he carried her like a baby, petting her vigorously all the while as he brought her back to his bedroom.
This time, he set her down on his bed. She looked even smaller when placed on the colossal piece of furniture, sinking into the soft silk and down comforter. "Shall we settle in for the night, do you think?" he asked of her, sitting on the couch at the foot of the bed to unlace his shoes. Taking them off, he set them neatly by the closet before unbuttoning his shirt.
He may have taken longer than necessary getting his shirt off for her benefit.
He tossed his shirt into the laundry, and pulled loose the ribbon from his hair, letting it fall more in whorls than in curls down his back and over his shoulders. He was not heavily built, long limbs and always the figure of an acrobat or a dancer, black curls trailing down his chest in a light dusting of hair.
"Ah!" he said suddenly, a thought occurring to him. He moved across the room to his violin, which he lifted from its stand. "Shall I play a song for you, petite bleu?" he asked. He started to lift the instrument to his chin, but paused. "You must sing for me, first," he informed her, pointing the bow at her. "Awoo – come, now, give me a song to accompany, if it is a song that you would like."
He hummed, and resumed feeding her little strips of ham, well aware of her impatience. He grabbed a piece with his other hand to nibble on some himself. It was delicious, after all. She'd certainly never had anything so fine as what he'd been feeding her, and he needed to feed her so little. What an amusing thought, that her first memories of these fine things would be forever tied to the memory of being small and helpless and trapped in his home.
Not that he was the one who'd trapped her. She was trapped by circumstance, and he was forced to keep her here, for her own safety. He was no happier about this than she was.
… in theory. In practice, he was enjoying himself immensely. If she didn't want to try to have fun while she was stuck here, that was hardly his fault.
"Do you know how cute you are?" he wondered, a genuine question that he knew she could not answer. He scratched her head while she finished off the last of the ham. "Oh, but you must. How could you not?" He gathered up the dishes to leave them in the sink for the morning, and then picked her up again. Once again, he carried her like a baby, petting her vigorously all the while as he brought her back to his bedroom.
This time, he set her down on his bed. She looked even smaller when placed on the colossal piece of furniture, sinking into the soft silk and down comforter. "Shall we settle in for the night, do you think?" he asked of her, sitting on the couch at the foot of the bed to unlace his shoes. Taking them off, he set them neatly by the closet before unbuttoning his shirt.
He may have taken longer than necessary getting his shirt off for her benefit.
He tossed his shirt into the laundry, and pulled loose the ribbon from his hair, letting it fall more in whorls than in curls down his back and over his shoulders. He was not heavily built, long limbs and always the figure of an acrobat or a dancer, black curls trailing down his chest in a light dusting of hair.
"Ah!" he said suddenly, a thought occurring to him. He moved across the room to his violin, which he lifted from its stand. "Shall I play a song for you, petite bleu?" he asked. He started to lift the instrument to his chin, but paused. "You must sing for me, first," he informed her, pointing the bow at her. "Awoo – come, now, give me a song to accompany, if it is a song that you would like."
RE: Any Shelter [Closed] - SolitareLee - 04-12-2017
As she suspected he would, he fed her the ham slowly, one tiny piece at a time. She found herself scooting closer, impatient, and reaching out for his hand each time it came close. This was ridiculous. She had never been fed anything in her life. Not that she had any memory of; she had presumably been fed when she was a baby. She glared at him, both for tormenting her with meat and meat-related innuendo, and for calling her cute. She supposed, to the objective layman, she might appear 'cute' in this form. But that was to people who didn't know what she was, as Jean didn't. She might have been 'cute' if she was actually a dog, who behaved like a dog, and wanted dog things and nothing more. An actual dog would have been having the time of its life. Instead, she was basically suffering through what for any real dog would have been proof that all dogs do, in fact, go to heaven.
For example, if she was just a dog and not a cursed abomination of nature, she would have only enjoyed him carrying her like a baby and rubbing her belly, all the way up the stairs. And if she'd been just a dog, she would have had no burning, terrified mortification about being tossed gently onto his bed.
His bed.
She was laying on a man's bed aaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAA
And then, to make things worse, because life hadn't tormented her enough, he began to strip. In earnest. Time seemed to slow to a stop as Bree, horrified beyond belief, disconnected from herself briefly to objectively consider her options.
The correct thing to do was to look away. To get distracted by something. Like a pillow. And not stare at the gorgeous, stripping man, who had no way of knowing there was a grown woman watching him. That was the moral and just thing, the thing she should do, for the sake of her sanity, because this was Jean Cernunnos, and yes, he was very attractive, but he was also the fucking devil and she didn't need to be thinking about how he looked shirtless the next time she was in here bartering her thoughts for books.
However.
However.
He didn't, in fact, know it was her. Men were not, in a general sense, lining up to strip for her. Not any men she'd enjoy seeing strip, in any case. Just the top two buttons of his shirt were promising a whole new world. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, here. She could just... you know, watch. Idly, as a dog might. For... the sake of...
She couldn't lie, for the sake of burning curiosity and her own frustrated libido. She didn't have a powerful sex drive, generally speaking, but she was almost 23 and had never so much as held hands with someone of any gender. She didn't even really have plans to change that, because she was genuinely unlikeable and also working very hard to never get pregnant.
He didn't have to know. She could just know. By herself. For science.
She'd already made her mind up by the time he'd gotten halfway down his shirt. She wasn't staring, but she had laid her head down on her paws in what she hoped look like casual relaxation. At an angle that just so happened to allow her to watch. Idly. Not staring.
She might be been staring a little.
When he pulled the ribbon from his hair, sending it down his back in a waterfall of curls, she was definitely staring. Her mouth might have fallen open a little. She wasn't sure if that was general shock or panting. She wasn't sure which would be worse.
And then, somehow, things took an even more bizarrely life-changing-night style turn, when he picked up his violin.
One thousand and one fantasies had flashed through her mind in a row. None of them had involved him shirtless. This was, literally, more than she could have ever dreamed of. Her mind would never have invented this scenario as a possibility.
It was possible she was taking advantage of this situation. Like, a lot.
But if he never knew... And, like... she hadn't asked him to strip or anything... It was hardly her fault. She couldn't have made him stop.
But she didn't have to howl for him.
...If she didn't... what if he climbed into bed. With her.
"Awooooooooo," she declared, throwing her head back. It wasn't loud, it wasn't proud. It was a howl filled with shame and self-loathing, if such things could translate through howls. But it was a howl nonetheless.
She'd hate herself in the fucking morning. She was busy right now.
RE: Any Shelter [Closed] - Tindome - 04-12-2017
"Yes!" he said, with obvious relish. How could she possibly hate it so much? One would think she could find some kind of delight in it, the primal nature of the sound and the freedom to simply be as an animal would. Instead she was all mulled pomegranate wine, far more than a form like hers was ever meant to hold. Animals simply didn't have the capacity for such things, and yet there she was, sitting in his bed, howling like the saddest little wail of regret.
He rewarded her by bringing his violin to his collarbone – he had no such modern accoutrements as rests for his chin or his shoulder – and drawing the bow across the strings. Something old, something pretty, something that he thought she would find attractive if he played it. That was what he was best at, after all.
Jean had years, decades, centuries of practice. Not just playing, but looking pretty while he did it, never making faces or looking anything but picture-perfect. He hadn't learned a new song in years, just played all the old ones over and over again, muscle memory guiding his fingers and the bow and the fall of his eyelashes. Slow and a little bit melancholy, repetitions and variations on themes with just enough flourish to give his fingers something to do. The hardest part was keeping his nails from plucking the strings.
If he practiced more, if he worked at it, he could probably be even better. If one didn't know exactly how long he'd had to perfect his routine, he looked like he had a natural gift, like he'd slaved over the strings to get to where was. Not toyed around whenever he'd felt like it for longer than most people had been alive.
He rewarded her by bringing his violin to his collarbone – he had no such modern accoutrements as rests for his chin or his shoulder – and drawing the bow across the strings. Something old, something pretty, something that he thought she would find attractive if he played it. That was what he was best at, after all.
Jean had years, decades, centuries of practice. Not just playing, but looking pretty while he did it, never making faces or looking anything but picture-perfect. He hadn't learned a new song in years, just played all the old ones over and over again, muscle memory guiding his fingers and the bow and the fall of his eyelashes. Slow and a little bit melancholy, repetitions and variations on themes with just enough flourish to give his fingers something to do. The hardest part was keeping his nails from plucking the strings.
If he practiced more, if he worked at it, he could probably be even better. If one didn't know exactly how long he'd had to perfect his routine, he looked like he had a natural gift, like he'd slaved over the strings to get to where was. Not toyed around whenever he'd felt like it for longer than most people had been alive.
RE: Any Shelter [Closed] - SolitareLee - 04-12-2017
It was beautiful. He was beautiful doing it, too, that couldn't be forgotten. All pale skin and dark hair and looking like a sculpture come to life. Oh, but the sounds... Bree's tail twitched back and forth in what would be low, slow arcs on a dog with a longer tail. After a few moments of staring in awe at the sheer aesthetics of the situation, she let her eyes slid shut, her ears still perked up towards him.
She'd never heard music live like this, and the sound of the violin filled the room and then the whole world and all of her. Every time she opened her eyes, there he still was, almost unearthly, like something out a dream. A weird dream. Or something from her stupid office fantasies. Though she could never have imagined something this good. She'd thought of him playing the violin, but it had been the kind of vague, hollow guesses that petting had been. And, like petting, the fantasies had paled in comparison to the reality.
She didn't have time to be embarrassed, or hate herself for admiring how good he looked or how skilled he was. That could happen later, whatever. She kicked it off to the side for once so she could just... enjoy.
Bliss.
She found herself thinking, wouldn't it be nice to live like this. It was a stupid thought, but she entertained it for longer than she should have. Maybe if she were an actual dog or an actual person, one or the other, she could have had some sort of life like this. If she just stayed a dog, she could maybe listen to beautiful music and eat caviar and be bathed and petted and told she was beautiful and a good girl.
And there would be music and warmth and no one to tell her all the things that were wrong with her.
Her tail wagged in slow, silent arcs, to the beat of the music. She laid down on her side, then stretched out, luxuriating in the softer-than-soft sheets. She was laying in a cloud. This was almost certainly heaven, if she let it be. The back of her mind knew she'd come crashing down to hell eventually but, oh, for just a few moments, to lay there and pretend...
RE: Any Shelter [Closed] - Tindome - 04-15-2017
Music soothed the savage beast, after all. Would it have worked as well when she was human? That was when she really needed it.
Still, he hadn't expected it to affect her so deeply. So light! Like rose petals in champagne. Longing and delight, never wanting it to end – he'd grow bored long before she had, he was sure. Still, he played longer than he otherwise might have, since it was easy enough to riff on what he had and circle back over notes already played and generally draw it out. He did appreciate when someone was willing to bask properly in the glory of him, when he worked so hard at being glorious.
If he played her a reel, would she dance for him?
That wouldn't suit this mood, however, tempestuous though he may have been. When he'd finally allowed his song to fade, he gave a dramatic bow, his hair falling over his face until he tossed it back to stand straight. He returned the violin to its stand, and picked her up so that he could fall backwards into his bed without crushing her.
"What do you think?" he asked her, holding her up in the air above him as he lounged. "A good lullaby? You are feeling restful now, yes?" He slid back enough that his head would lay on the pillows, aided by the slippery silk, giving his hair a little toss so that it would fall prettier against the lavender pillowcases. He set her down on his bare stomach, lifting up her front paws between his fingers and wiggling them.
Still, he hadn't expected it to affect her so deeply. So light! Like rose petals in champagne. Longing and delight, never wanting it to end – he'd grow bored long before she had, he was sure. Still, he played longer than he otherwise might have, since it was easy enough to riff on what he had and circle back over notes already played and generally draw it out. He did appreciate when someone was willing to bask properly in the glory of him, when he worked so hard at being glorious.
If he played her a reel, would she dance for him?
That wouldn't suit this mood, however, tempestuous though he may have been. When he'd finally allowed his song to fade, he gave a dramatic bow, his hair falling over his face until he tossed it back to stand straight. He returned the violin to its stand, and picked her up so that he could fall backwards into his bed without crushing her.
"What do you think?" he asked her, holding her up in the air above him as he lounged. "A good lullaby? You are feeling restful now, yes?" He slid back enough that his head would lay on the pillows, aided by the slippery silk, giving his hair a little toss so that it would fall prettier against the lavender pillowcases. He set her down on his bare stomach, lifting up her front paws between his fingers and wiggling them.
RE: Any Shelter [Closed] - SolitareLee - 04-15-2017
She floated on the music for as long as he felt like playing, which was longer than she thought he would, so late at night. When he finished, she sort of wanted to clap, particularly when he bowed. She gave a pleased bark instead, quieter than she could have been because it seemed easy to misinterpret that sort of thing, and no one really liked it when she barked. When he picked her up, she was a bit distracted by how pretty he was. Just. Aesthetically speaking. She was always sort of vaguely aware of the fact he was attractive, but right now, with his hair all undone and the echoes of music lingering her ears... and his shirt off, admittedly... she was very strongly aware of it.
Then he fell down into bed, still holding her, which was an alarming sensation. She let out an alarmed little whuff of air, and then he held her up above him, which did nothing for her sensation of falling/flying. She looked down, and he was laying on his bed, hair all splayed out on purple silk and she remembered this was his bed, she was on his fucking bed, holy shit, there was a shirtless man on his bed and now he was setting her down on his naked stomach aaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAA
She splayed her legs out as if for balance, eyes wide. She had no frame of reference for this whatsoever. Her whole world rose and fell as he breathed. He was so warm. He was so nude, dear god. If he ever found out who she was, he could probably have her arrested or something. This had to be some kind of sexual assault on her part, even though he was the one doing everything.
She wished she could focus more properly on her moral panic--and general panic, because shirtless man and she was every bit of her a virgin--and stop thinking things like how comfortable he was and how much she loved his hands. As a dog, she always had a sort of vague desire to lick things, like his fingers. As a human, she was well aware that it was inappropriate to just go around licking people. The end result was her, frozen in indecision, hating her very nature to its core beause it was a wretched goddamn nature that made her want to lick Jean Cernunnos' fingers. While being very aware of all the implications of that for an ordinary person. Which she wasn't, and he didn't know she wasn't just a dog, but still, still, she--oh, goddamnit, her tongue was already licking his hand. Goddamnit, goddamnit.
RE: Any Shelter [Closed] - Tindome - 04-21-2017
Jean accepted her little bark as the praise that he deserved, aware that it was the best she could manage under the circumstances.
Such peculiar panic, like sour lemon hard candy. She simply hadn't the slightest idea what to do with herself in this situation. Heaven only knew how she might have responded had he actually taken off his trousers. Which he still might do, but he hadn't decided yet. On the one hand, an animal shouldn't care, and so he might as well. On the other, being ogled by a tiny dog in that particular regard felt… wrong.
He chuckled as she started to lick his hand, almost involuntarily. He set her paws down, giving her one hand to lick and using the other to pet her down her back. "Kisses!" he said, delighted. "For me? What a sweet girl you are. Or is it only that you are hoping I will still have ham for you, hm?" He chuckled again.
"Ordinarily I would read before bed – would you like me to read to you?" He took his hand away from her to stretch out, grabbing a book from his end table. "How do you feel about…" He looked at the cover. "… the invention of the sewing machine? Riveting, non?"
Using one hand to pet her, he opened the hardcover with the other, fingers splayed to hold it open. He'd already started reading, but started over from the beginning for her benefit. His tone of voice was very much like the one he used when he had her in his office – low and soothing as he stroked her fur.
Such peculiar panic, like sour lemon hard candy. She simply hadn't the slightest idea what to do with herself in this situation. Heaven only knew how she might have responded had he actually taken off his trousers. Which he still might do, but he hadn't decided yet. On the one hand, an animal shouldn't care, and so he might as well. On the other, being ogled by a tiny dog in that particular regard felt… wrong.
He chuckled as she started to lick his hand, almost involuntarily. He set her paws down, giving her one hand to lick and using the other to pet her down her back. "Kisses!" he said, delighted. "For me? What a sweet girl you are. Or is it only that you are hoping I will still have ham for you, hm?" He chuckled again.
"Ordinarily I would read before bed – would you like me to read to you?" He took his hand away from her to stretch out, grabbing a book from his end table. "How do you feel about…" He looked at the cover. "… the invention of the sewing machine? Riveting, non?"
Using one hand to pet her, he opened the hardcover with the other, fingers splayed to hold it open. He'd already started reading, but started over from the beginning for her benefit. His tone of voice was very much like the one he used when he had her in his office – low and soothing as he stroked her fur.
RE: Any Shelter [Closed] - SolitareLee - 04-21-2017
She was mortified that she was licking his hand. She was also mortified that it tasted good, salt and sweet. It felt good, too, on some doggy level that she never thought too hard about. Thinking too hard about instincts just gave her a headache. Then he started petting her again, and the mortification faded, but only to make room for the bliss. Petting felt so good. No wonder dogs loved it so much, in general. No wonder she'd spent twenty years wondering what it'd feel like. If he could just... keep doing that forever, that would be grand.
She could almost forget this was Jean Cernunnos, if she closed her eyes. Except for the trace of claws on her back, reminding her of who and what was petting her, exactly. She kept licking, idly, taking solace in the fact that he had no idea who she was and she could keep this private. She'd have to live with the knowledge, and god only knew what she'd do when she next saw him as a person, but...
Maybe a little suffering and humiliation was worth it, for this kind of attention.
Her eyes flew open again with the mention of a book. Reading. And the subject! He read strange, esoteric books on random interesting subjects at night, too? Well, he did own a bookstore, a bookstore full of strange, esoteric books. She gave an excited, if subdued, little bark of glee, forgetting for a moment that no normal dog would be thrilled at the concept of reading. But she could think of nothing better than reading a book about the invention of the sewing machine.
He was reading. Out loud, to her. While she lay on his naked torso, a thought which still alarmed her. While petting her, which was just... just the best.
Clearly, the universe wanted to apologize for making her deal with Jean in her human form. If only he could be this nice when she had two legs! Of course, that just gave her a mental image she didn't need, involving her in this position as a woman. She shook that away. If she got caught up thinking like that, she'd sink into mortification again. She could enjoy this as a dog, and compartmentalize, the way she did with fantasy-Jean, when she did thought exercises in his office. There could be real-Jean, fantasy-Jean, and dog-Jean. She could manage that.
Her tail thumped idly against his chest and she laid her head down on her paws, relaxing into bliss as his hand slid across her fur, again and again.
"It had no instrument panel with push-button controls. It was not operated electronically or jet-propelled. But to many 19th-century people the sewing machine was probably as awe-inspiring as a space capsule is to their 20th-century descendants..."
Thump. Thump. Thump. His heartbeat or her tail? She couldn't tell anymore.
"For thousands of years, the only means of stitching two pieces of fabric together had been with a common needle and a length of thread."
She didn't need to sleep. But she found herself sort of drifting, floating, on a cloud that rose and fell with his breaths. She would rouse slightly every time he paused to turn a page, then drift again when his hand fell back to her.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd been this happy.
RE: Any Shelter [Closed] - Tindome - 05-02-2017
With the amount of energy he was consuming, Jean had no need of sleep. Not like when he'd been surviving off of books, and had gone to bed early and roused late. He could now easily stay awake until the next night, or further on.
However. This dog resting lazily on his chest was not always a dog – he'd only ever seen her as a young woman before. Though he hadn't bothered to check on the state of the moon, he'd hazard a guess that her form would change with the morning light. What would she do then, splayed naked over him as she was?
Recoil in horror and try to hide, he imagined.
But if she thought him unawares, what then?
He came to the end of a chapter, and yawned. He closed the book and set it aside, quietly enough that it might seem he was trying not to disturb her as he turned off the light.
He could go so far as to get beneath the covers, but who could ever bear to do such a thing with such a small dog sitting so comfortably upon them? Instead he simply let his hand rest on her back, shutting his eyes and settling in to wait for morning.
However. This dog resting lazily on his chest was not always a dog – he'd only ever seen her as a young woman before. Though he hadn't bothered to check on the state of the moon, he'd hazard a guess that her form would change with the morning light. What would she do then, splayed naked over him as she was?
Recoil in horror and try to hide, he imagined.
But if she thought him unawares, what then?
He came to the end of a chapter, and yawned. He closed the book and set it aside, quietly enough that it might seem he was trying not to disturb her as he turned off the light.
He could go so far as to get beneath the covers, but who could ever bear to do such a thing with such a small dog sitting so comfortably upon them? Instead he simply let his hand rest on her back, shutting his eyes and settling in to wait for morning.
RE: Any Shelter [Closed] - SolitareLee - 05-03-2017
Bree drowsed. She awoke briefly, at some indeterminate time in the middle of the night, to find darkness and a sleeping Jean. She was still on his stomach, which rose and fell like the sea, taking her with it. His hand was on her back.
His face was beautiful as he slept, skin like marble in the scant light.
She watched him through sleepy eyes, then set her head back down on his chest and fell back asleep, dreaming peaceful dreams of fireplaces and the miracle of hands that would touch her.
When she awoke again, it was dawn. She knew this, because she awoke abruptly to the sensation of transformation. It didn't always wake her up, but when her sleep was weak, as this drowsy dreamlike consciousness was, it often did.
She was very nude and much heavier, still sprawled out on top of him, mostly lengthways. Her hips were on his stomach, which put her face--more accurately her neck--somewhere over his. He was still very shirtless. His hand was still resting on the small of her back.
She let out a very quiet, subdued little whimper of abject horror, only so quiet because she feared waking him above else. She'd intended to escape just before this part.
Carefully, so carefully, she rolled off of him and onto the bed at large. And it was large, very large, and soft, and this was silk, she suspected, and it felt divine.
She kept rolling, until she reached the end of it, and slid quietly onto the floor. He was asleep. Thank god, thank any god, thank all gods, he was still asleep. Barely breathing, she snuck towards the door, then paused. She was completely naked. She couldn't just walk home like this! She needed a shirt! And a hat!
Desperately, her eyes fell on his dresser. Stepping slowly, carefully, eyes on Jean's prone form, she slipped up to it, opening a drawer silently, in inches. Shirts. Yes. Good. Probably what Jean classified as undershirts, or sleepwear maybe, if she didn't know he slept shirtless. It was a white button down number, but soft. Comfortable for sleeping in, she was sure. It was ludicrously huge on her, small though she wasn't. She pulled it on like a jacket, buttoning it up quickly. She rolled up the sleeves and buttoned them. What was probably intended to be elbow length hit her like a 3/4ths sleeve. It fell halfway down her thighs, which was good, because none of his pants would ever fit her. She tried another drawer, hoping for something with elastic. Maybe some shorts? She'd settle for boxers, if they were clean and she could run home without thinking about things they'd touched.
His underwear drawer was not full of boxers. Or even briefs. They were full of what had to be--had to be--women's underwear. Surely... These were for... guests. Or were trophies, or something, taken from various conquered souls. She picked one up, one finger around a thin side, abject horror on her face, then dropped it quickly. She would go commando in a nightshirt. She would walk of shame her way home. She just needed something to cover her ears... OH, thank god, scarves. This would do. She pulled one out at random and scurried quietly for the door. Thank god for thumbs... she could let herself out, and Jean could be left to wonder at the strange disappearance of his "petite bleu."